Silent Hill 2: Unplugged
by Emergency Exit
Summary: Rated T, as everything else, filled with all sorts of narcotic drugs, etcetera. Random as hell. Chapter Three.
1. Spearmint

**Silent Hill 2: Unplugged**

**A/N:** Because I like to add 'Unplugged' to everything.  
Inspired by several different things, mainly 'Aisle 4A' by me and 'How it Started' by obscurestyle. Here's hoping this goes well!  
Probably won't, but dammit, I can DREAM.

* * *

_In a dank and dirty bathroom somewhere, trouble was brewing._

The bathroom was very poorly kept, to say the least. Pieces of broken glass lay on the floor, rats could be heard scurrying about the dirty tiles, and _4 a gud tyme call catlyn 766-445-5555_ was crawled in black marker on the wall, next to a man hunched over an equally dirty sink.

James Sunderland looked at his reflection in the mirror, which was marred by places where the glass was missing, a smear of some sort of brown fluid, blood, and a piece of what was probably spearmint bubblegum._  
"I am so wasted right now."  
_He blinked once, twice, and looked around him. How exactly he'd gotten into the bathroom he hadn't the faintest clue. There seemed to be a blur in his memory between the party at Chuck's place on Friday and waking up here. Meth sure _was_ one hell of a drug.  
After approximately 58 minutes and 30 seconds of deliberating as to whether he preferred Shrimp flavored Mr. Noodles over Mushroom flavored, James finally decided it was high time he got out of the bathroom and figured out just where the hell he was exactly.

Outside was a pier of some sort overlooking a forest. James's car was parked in a lot, there were no other cars in sight. Leaning against the railing of the pier, James suddenly remembered about the letter he'd received the eve of Chuck's party:

_"Mr. James Sunderland,_

_You have outstanding fees at our library. Please return the following books: _How To Cook a Turkey With a Toothpick and an Empty Juice Box_ by Edith Walburg, and _Top Ten Ways to Procrastinate_ by A. Melon with your fee of 59.70."_

And then he remembered about the letter he'd been holding in his hand on the way back to his house when the wind picked it from his grasp and sent it down the road, where James had run for 5 miles trying to get it back and had done a spot on job of holding up traffic. After retrieving the letter from the tire of a moving car, he had folded it carefully into his pocket. And now, James pulled the letter from his pocket and read:

_In my restless dreams, I see that town.  
Silent Hill._

_You promised you'd take me there again someday.  
But you never did._

_Well, I'm alone there now... In our 'special place'...  
Waiting for you...  
_

_P.S.: Out of jam. Bring me more jam. And not that blackberry crap, the GOOD kind. You know, with the chunks of strawberry in it?_

_Mary_

"Well that's kind of stupid," James had said to himself, "Mary's dead. You'd think dead people wouldn't really be in to flashy vacation spots considering they're dead and all."  
And then, while thinking of this letter in the dark and dreary town of Silent Hill, it occurred to James that dead people weren't interested in flashy vacation spots primarily because they couldn't read travel pamphlets, and this was because of their lack of eyes, and this was in turn caused by the maggots eating away at them, and the maggots came from the ground that the dead people were buried in, and if there were maggots in their eyes then surely there were maggots in their hands and that would mean...

"OHMYFLYINGJESUS," James exclaimed aloud, "DEAD PEOPLE CAN'T WRITE LETTERS!"

And with this startling revelation, he took off into the thick fog yonder.

*

After quite a bit of repetitive walking down an irritatingly spooky path, James came across a young woman standing in a graveyard. She was hunched over a gravestone sobbing uncontrollably, muttering something about a dog, a clown, and a tire iron.

"Oh look," James moaned sarcastically, "that's not disturbing in the _slightest_."  
The figure, hearing him, turned around and stared at James with wild, crazy eyes. "M...Mama?" she stuttered, ignoring the fact that James was quite visibly a man.  
Stunned, he wasn't quite sure what to say. "...yes?"  
"Are you my mama?" the figure asked him again.  
"Well," James mused, twiddling his thumbs and avoiding her gaze, "are you remotely attractive?"  
Quietly, the figure in the mist stepped out of said mist to reveal her full form. James was beginning to wish she'd stayed in the mist. He sighed in a disappointed manner.  
"Awwww.. No, sorry, I haven't seen your mother."  
"Oh..." the girl looked the the ground sorrowfully.  
Suddenly, her head snapped back up to James's eye level.  
"I'm Angela!" she said in a disturbingly eager manner.  
"That's great," James said as if he was actually interested in knowing. He wasn't.  
"My mother is dead. I'm looking for her."  
"Yeah, I couldn't tell- wait, what?"  
Angela's eyelid twitched.  
"Em... am I on the right path to Silent Hill?" James asked her.  
Angela grinned at him like a child who'd just seen something awesome but horrifying at the same time, perhaps a bear being shot in the head.  
"Yes!" she exclaimed. "But you'd best be careful. There's something... weird about the town." She stopped and gazed thoughtfully into the thick fog. "It smells like burnt Pop Tarts."  
James looked at her stunned, his mouth hanging open. "YOU NOTICED THAT TOO?!?"  
Angela nodded carefully.  
Gleefully, James waved goodbye and made his merry way to Silent Hill.

*

Entering the town which was as equally foggy as the surrounding area, James spent about two hours or so wandering down random streets, only stopping when he noticed some interesting artwork on the road.  
"LOOK!" James exclaimed as he pointed to the street, "BLOOD SMEARS!"  
Sufficiently entertained for the day, he continued to skip along merrily in the opposite direction.

About an hour and a half and three miles of skipping later, James stopped at the sound of some sort of static, akin to a broken radio.  
"That's weird," he mused, "sounds like a broken radio."  
He followed the sound, and stopped at what seemed to be an abandoned construction site. He looked to his right at the ground.  
"Hey, look!" He bent down and picked up something. "A broken radio!"  
The static coming from the radio was loud and extremely annoying, so James set it down. Just then, a loud snarling noise emitted from some sort of rather depressing looking wooden barricade.  
Stepping through it, James saw some sort of faceless man wrapped in a straight jacket like material of sorts. It writhed in some sort of pain and flopped about, quite literally, like a fish out of water.  
Panicking, James stepped back and examined the area for something to defend himself with. To his left was a chainsaw, to his right a pistol, and directly behind him, a plank of wood.  
"A PLANK OF WOOD! THAT'S IT!"  
He picked up the plank and began to beat the creature mercilessly.

About fifteen minutes later, the creature's head now reassembling a squished tomato, James stepped back, panting.  
"I think it's dead," he confirmed. But he kicked it anyhow, just for good measure.  
Stepping outside the barricade, the radio had stopped emitting static, but was now emitting a kind of raspy, female sounding whisper. He picked up the radio curiously and listened to what it had to say:

_"J...jam...need...j...straw...berry...go...n...bla....please....jam...James..."  
_  
"Huh," James said, placing the radio into his hilariously over-sized pockets, "I guess someone is in dire need of jam."  
He gazed into the horizon thoughtfully, at where the rest of the town lay.  
"Don't worry," he said somewhat importantly, "I _will_ find you. I will find _you_ and I will _find you_ jam."  
And with this heroic declaration, he ran off down another random alleyway.

* * *

**A/N:** Did you know is out to get me? Yeah. Half of this was deleted before I could save the document. xD It's not even a ScriptFic. (coughliketheotheronecough) /kidding


	2. Adjective Abuse

**Silent Hill 2: Unplugged**

**A/N:** Sorry this took so long, I spilled liquid on my laptop and the keyboard sort of doesn't work anymore. In fact, most of this was typed up with an on-screen keyboard. **Lots** of clicking.  
But, um, anyhow, have fun with this.

* * *

_After running frantically along Lindsey Street for about two hours, clutching his plank of wood protectively like it was a newborn child made of wood and nails and stained with blood as if the nurse hadn't washed it correctly, James stopped to take a breather._

To his left was an old and rather beat up car. Panting, James approached it, hoping that car theft was not at all common in this town and maybe, just maybe, the keys were still in the ignition.  
Opening the door, he felt around for a bit, and, despite discovering a dead rat, an empty coffee cup from Seven Eleven and some sort of sticky substance on the gas pedal, he did not find keys.  
The radio began to emit the static noise again.  
"Goddammit," James swore as he smacked it against his hand repeatedly to get it to shut the hell up, "I HATE this station."  
He hit the radio against the cab of the car and the radio was silent. What was not silent, on the other hand, was the faceless figure-thing that leaped out at him from underneath the car. It clawed and scratched up the pavement making some sort of abstract artwork with it's fingernails, and if you squinted really hard it kind of looked like a kitten.  
James screamed and kicked it's 'face' in with the heel of his boot. Then he smacked it over the head with the plank of wood for good measure.

He continued his pleasant stroll in Silent Hill, only stopping to see that a large DO NOT CROSS banner that had once blocked off Katz Street had now been cut away, and fragments of it lay scattered about the ground like unwanted children. James stared at them awkwardly for several minutes.  
"Huh," he said flatly, "I thought 'Cats' was spelled with a C."  
He kicked the tape out of his way and wandered down the road.

*

Along the sidewalk of Saul Street was an abandoned motor home, which James examined with great interest, his mouth hanging open with the makings of a fantastic idea. He walked up to the siding and tapped it hard with his knuckles twice. The section of the wall gave way and fell near his feet to reveal an infrastructure of worms, maggots, and rats underneath the siding. James stepped back, frightened.  
"Alright then," he stuttered, "guess I'm NOT taking this home for the cats..."  
He cautiously entered the trailer. On the wall adjacent to the open door was a rather tattered looking couch, and on it, a notepad. James picked up the notepad and flipped through it. Someone had scribbled a flip book animation of a donkey kicking someone in the head in the bottom right hand corner of the pages. James stopped flipping at a scrawled note and the donkey's feet in mid kick.  
_I'll wait at 'BAR Neely's'_  
Slightly confused, James put the notepad in his pocket and looked around. He closed the trailer door. Scribbled on the back of the door in black sharpie marker was_ 'Here's a hint: Go to the bar.'_  
"Weeeiiiirrrdd. Guess SOMEONE was a heavy drinker..." James sat down on the couch and leaned back, gazing at the ceiling, where _'OH MY GOD are you retarded?'_ had been inscribed in the plaster with a knife and what looked like and was probably not red pen. Offended, James sat up and walked out of the trailer.  
"Well EXCUSE ME for sitting down!" he raved as he made his way down the foggy streets. "I thought this was a free country? What is this place, some kind of sovereign, obscure territory that no one's heard of within the U.S., like North Dakota? Can a man not sit down on a maggot infested, disease ridden sofa and just RELAX for a change, without someone on his back all the time?" he switched his voice into a falsetto and clutched his hands under his chin, in mockery of a very manly looking housewife: "Oh, James, take out the garbage! James, clean up the garage! James, get that dead cow out of the yard! James, call the fire department, THE STOVE'S ON FIRE."  
Switching back to his normal voice, James wiped the sweat from his brow and sighed heavily.  
"Christ, I need a drink."

*

The inside of the bar was dark. Extraordinarily dark.  
To James's right was a window of sorts with newspaper clippings pinned to it. And writing. James sauntered on over to the window and peered closely to read the red spray paint, despite the fact that the individual letters were substantially bigger than his own head.  
"There was a HOLE here," he read out loud, since being loud in dark rooms where you can't see the ceiling is _always_ a good idea. "It's gone now."  
Startled by this revelation, he took a couple of steps back and looked around the window. Thinking he'd heard something, James spun around on his heels and came face to face with the very personification of his worst nightmares and fears.  
"OH MY GOD!" he screamed, swinging his plank of wood wildly at the counter in front of him, "A SHOP TILL!"  
The wood made contact with the till and knocked it off the counter, sending five dollar bills flying freely about the room. Side stepping around the scattered nickels and dimes, James approached the counter cautiously, ready to strike.  
On top of the counter was a crumpled piece of paper. It was a map, with red lines drawn about it and a shopping list in the bottom right hand corner. Apparently, someone was having leek soup that night. The map seemed to be edited; there was a red question mark at the end of Martin Street.  
"Good god," James mused aloud, "A question mark. _It must mean something._"  
He pondered for a second before revising his thinking.  
"Actually," he said to himself slowly, "Maybe it's a warning not to go there. I mean, it could only mean trouble. Running around rooms and being chased by things and solving puzzles and the like."  
"But wait..." James exclaimed, a strobe light going off in his head, "Maybe... Martin Street is where the HOLE went!"  
He snapped his fingers in pride and ingenuity and began to pace the room around him.  
"Yes... this HOLE was the one that told me to find it jam! The HOLE wrote the letter! So all this.. the HOLE must be some deep, psychological link to Mary's memory that is manifesting itself in reality to make a point. IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!"  
Proud of himself beyond limitation, James practically skipped out of the bar and toward Martin Street.

*

James stood now in front of a decomposing body that lay like a piece of art decor at the end of Martin Street. James put his hand to his chin in pensive thought.  
"I wonder what he's doing here," he mused. "Waiting for something?" He knelt down beside the body and swatted away a fly coming out of it's eye socket.  
"Excuse me, sir? Are you lost?"  
The corpse said nothing.  
James stared at it furiously, as if there was a laser beam in his retina that he could perhaps use to carve profanity on the dead man's forehead. And of course there wasn't.  
"Hey!" He yelled, getting angry, "Can you hear me? I'm talking to you. LISTEN!"  
He kicked the corpse in the stomach. It fell over and a small silver key came clattering out of it's tattered jacket's shirt. James picked it up and examined it.  
"'Apartment gate key?'" James looked curiously at the man and grinned with a wild idea fit for a low budget comedy film. "You know what? Just for being such an ass I'm going to go to your apartment. And you know what I'll do there?"  
He paused for a beat for dramatic effect and continued: "I'm going to turn on every light there and then RUIN YOUR MICROWAVE!"  
James cackled maniacally and took off in search of the apartment complex. It wasn't until he'd hurridly opened the gate, ran up a flight of stairs and gotten halfway down a hallway that it occured to him he'd forgotten to ask which room the dead man resided in.

* * *

And so ends possibly the worst chapter ever written. I applaud your patience. Writer's block is a bitch.


	3. Vegetable Cocktails

**Silent Hill 2: Unplugged**

**A/N:** This is chapter three. Zip-ah-dee-do-dah.  
Also, I apologize for the huge time gaps I have between chapters. I have a new laptop now so hopefully no more of that. Jazzy.

* * *

_James made his way through the long halls, hopelessly trying to figure out which one belongs to the dead man...._

The apartment complex had many, many doors, most of which were locked, probably due to the vast amounts of faceless-straightjacket things roaming the hallway. By this time the scare factor had long worn off and James was pretty much just trying to find out which apartment he was going to rob. It would probably be easier to do with a map, but these things do not typically occur to people who get a buzz from ballpoint pens.

Approaching the second floor, one of the doors which happened not to be locked hung slightly open as if to suggest someone might be in there.  
"Geeze," James muttered, scratching his head. "It looks like someone might be in there. I should go check it out."  
He gently pushed the door open a bit more and slipped inside. He was met by a bright light coming from a mannequin in the center of the room, the light coming from a clip-on flashlight on the collar of the dress hanging on the mannequin. James approached the dress with disgust.

"What a terrible design," he mused, prodding the dress and taking the flashlight from it. "Just look at this color scheme! Egg yellow collar and a pink floral design. Eww. Looks like the kind of thing Mary might wear."

*

Stepping back out into the hallway, James hung a left at the first oppourtunity he had. On this new floor was another long, dark hallway. But one side happened to have some bars on it. On the opposite side of these bars was a small key lying daintly on the floor.  
Panting, James decided the key was most likely there for a reason, just as everything else in the town was there for. Kneeling down on the floor, he stuck his hand through the bars and probed around for the key.  
And then he felt a painful pressing on his fingertips and saw a small foot with a shoe on it kick the key away. He looked up to see a little girl stand there, hands on hips, mocking him with her pigtails.  
"Haha!" She giggled and skipped off down the hall.  
"HEY!" James shouted after her and threatened her back with the wooden plank, but then decided that going to jail for beating up a small child with a blunt object was probably not going to help him out at the moment.  
James picked himself up off the floor with haste and ran down the hallway. He was about to turn right when he heard a scream.  
"What was that?" He looked around nervously and readied his plank. Nobody came charging down the hallway with a shotgun so he figured it was safe to continue on and did so. Taking a deep breath, James looked around the corner to the right, where there were more bars blocking the end of the hallway. He approached them with caution, disregarding how tragically that had ended roughly three minutes ago. James put his hand on a doorknob and heard a raspy noise next to his ear.  
He turned his head slowly toward the bars in the hallway and was met with the glowing red outline of a tall misshapen figure.  
"OH MY GOD!" James practically screeched, "You have a WHEELBARREL ON YOUR HEAD!"  
Panicking, he open the door hastily and slipped inside the room.

Inside the terribly decorated and rather depressing looking room there was static on the TV screen and the top of someone's head could be seen slightly from the big green chair they were sitting in. James pushed the door shut and stepped further into the apartment. He walked over to the person sitting in the chair and screamed with the lacking enthusiasm of a girl scout watching a man having his face eaten by a cougar.  
"My GOD!" James retracted his hand which was now covered in blood, and wiped it on the back of the chair. "He's dead... _Who would do something like that?_"

He glanced around the room nervously and stepped back from the body. "Okay," James said, his voice shaking with fear, "I'm beginning to suspect that there is something _seriously messed up_ about this town."

James looked around the room for something that might be usefull, perhaps something sharp for which to manually gauge out the mental image of what he had just seen from his brain. He found a key and thought maybe it would work, however he lacked the suicidal tendencies needed to insert it into his eye socket. The plastic tag on it said 'Clock'. James licked his thumb, erased the L, and giggled to himself quietly.

On the opposite side of the room was a clock. One could only assume the clock key belonged to this clock, or perhaps it belonged to some other clock, the very fact that clocks even required keys anymore was a complex enough mystery to James, and neither he nor anyone else would have really cared to figure it all out, so with that train of thought he stepped up to the clock, inserted the key, kicked it lovingly with the heel of his boot and body-checked it with his shoulder in a rare moment of violent brilliance.  
It obediently fell over on it's side to reveal a large man-made hole in the wall behind it.

*

Several hours later, James stumbled out of a room on the third floor in a daze. Terror and horror still lingered in him, gripping his organs fiercely like a pimp demanding money from his ho. Words could not even describe the awful scene he had just witnessed, but they sure as peas could try.  
"Boiled eggs..." James murmured, his bottom lip trembling. "Gum wrappers, camels... turtle-shaped stickers..."  
Legs trembling with the fierceness of a violent hurricane, he used the wall to guide himself to the end of the hallway. James settled himself down onto the floor and looked to his side, where a V8 bottle sat quietly. James cast the wooden plank aside and hugged the bottle of delicious vegetable juice tightly to his chest.  
_"Where were you when I needed you the most?"_ he whispered into the side of the bottle, tears welling in his eyes.  
"..." said the bottle.  
"Why don't you ever talk to me?" James rose from his feet and held the bottle out in front of him. "I feel like we just don't communicate anymore."  
"See?" His voice shook with anger and he choked back tears. "Even now, you just... I think... we should see other people."  
And with that he cast the bottle aside, and it made it's merry way down the garbage chute adjacent.  
"....!" screamed the bottle in rage.

Dusting off his hands, James collected himself and decided to go for a walk around outside, completely forgetting what he was doing in the apartment building to begin with. Caressing the stairwell banister tenderly, he hummed a jaunty tune and amused himself for a few minutes with the pocket flashlight.  
Swinging open the door to the courtyard merrily, he strolled over to a dry swimming pool, and peered over the edge. Three stumbling creatures, a baby carriage and a the rotting corpse of half a giraffe, nothing _too_ unusual.  
But just as James turned his eye away from the pool, he caught sight of a glimmer. Or, more rather, the glimmer caught him and clutched his heart and dug out the mamillian attraction to shiny objects buried deep in his mind.  
James smurked wildly and obediently threw himself at the cement bottom of the pool, jumped up, kicked over the carriage expelling both the shiny object, a coin, and a baby, which wailed as it tried to crawl over to the coin.  
"NO!" Thinking fast, James threw a blanket from the carriage over top of the baby and grabbed the coin from it's reach. He held it up to the filtered sunlight and examined it like he knew what he was looking for. James smiled.  
"Made in 1997," he said smartly. "_The year I was born_."

* * *

C/N: I AM SO SORRY THIS IS SO LATE. And I really got lazy at the end there, believe it or not it was hard for me to make rape comedic. So I just edited that bit out. And the finding of the courtyard key, because really, there are FAR TOO MANY KEYS IN THAT GAME.


End file.
